


There Is No Handbook for This

by Whreflections



Series: Escort!Chris Verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, M/M, Past Underage Sex, Prostitute Chris Argent, Stiles/OMC also very briefly referenced, no infidelity, very briefly referenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 03:31:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: Stiles would have never, ever imagined he'd be at a place in his life where hiring an escort to get some decent sex and feel out how deep his attraction to older men really went was a legitimate option- and he can imagine a lot.Money might not buy happiness, but it's pretty great for taking away a few /why not?/ barriers, until the only thing holding you back is inhibition, or common sense.  Stiles might be sharp, but he's never been overly good at having the kind of sense it would take to keep himself out of trouble.





	There Is No Handbook for This

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for inspiring this goes to bunnywest for mentioning hooker Chris...and hopefully inspiring not just this fic but others still to come from everyone who loved the idea, XD

Stiles had always had a vivid imagination.  There was very little he couldn’t imagine, but even so, a lot of what he could imagine fell under the heading of ‘this could happen to someone, somewhere, at some point in time, but it’s not going to happen to almost everyone’.  He’d thought about some of these scenarios, and he wasn’t the only one.  Anyone who regularly daydreamed or read those Worst Case Scenario handbooks was guilty of doing the same thing.  Sometimes, he’d taken it further and sat down to make a detailed plan of exactly what he’d do if he found a baby yeti on a hike instead of doing his cryptobiology homework, but the point was, he thought about the unusual.  He wasn’t rigid, and he wasn’t paranoid—just open minded, and full of curiosity.

For all of that, though, there were still things he never imagined he’d be considering any harder than he did a hypothetical fight between 25 flaming skeletons and 12 mermen with trained tiger sharks.  (For the record, he was right and Scott was wrong; the mermen would win.)  Somewhere in the world there were dudes who wound up unexpectedly fucking loaded at 22, contemplating hiring an upscale escort to take with them to an absurdly fancy party.  That dude’s name was probably Brandon, or something similarly ordinary; he probably had landed a role in a movie with an overnight fandom straight out of acting school.  There were stacks of possibilities for it, and damn near every one of them would have made more sense than what had happened to Stiles.

Having your dad’s estranged grandmother reappear and split her fortune between the two of you?  It wasn’t likely; it didn’t happen—except when it did, and it had, to him.  He couldn’t complain, but it had led to his life becoming increasingly bizarre, the possibilities open to him thrown jarringly wide. Pre-Inheritance Stiles might have joked with Scott about hiring an escort to go with him to the fancy party being thrown for donors to the local police department’s fund for the families of fallen officers; he might have even pulled up the website, but it would have only been to look at the options and cackle with Scott over what he couldn’t afford.  He probably would have jerked off afterward.

Post Inheritance Stiles was going to be too fucking nervous to jerk off after he was finished, because he wasn’t just looking.  He was _considering_ , seriously, and that was totally different.  He wasn’t complaining, and he didn’t regret having the money, but sometimes he couldn’t help but feel that he really just wasn’t meant to have this much power.  His self-control was decent; he hadn’t done anything absurd like buy a party yacht, but he _had_ made choices that would have seemed crazy to him, before.  They seemed a little crazy even after, but now there was nothing to stop him from _trying_ the crazy.  It was like his imagination had been given free rein to go nuts, and hadn’t fully realized it yet, even two years on.

Stiles’ thumb smoothed absently over the worn spot on his laptop where the coating had chipped, right where his palm usually rested when he wrote.  The irregular shape of it was familiar, the cracks on the sides like rivers and tributaries snaking out from a lake.  Someday, he might work it into a story of his, build it into a fantasy that no one would ever know had come from an accident of time.

Even the prospect of all the stories he had unfinished where it might could fit wasn’t as nerve wracking as the screen in front of him.  In comparison, that thought was _soothing_. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do it; he did, clearly, or he wouldn’t have had his mouse hovering over the ‘Request an Appointment’ button.  It was just hard to believe that he _could_ , that this was an option he could take and try.  It was surreal as hell. 

The man whose picture took up most of the page was unbelievably gorgeous, but it wasn’t just the glimpse of his chest or the shape of his body or the piercing blue of his eyes.  It wasn’t even the model pose, laid back on the bed and leaning on his elbows, looking up at the camera.  There was an indefinable presence about him, hovering somewhere in the brilliance of his eyes and the casually open shirt.  The way he held his body, maybe, or the bite mark long scarred over on his neck that he hadn’t bothered to hide.  The rumple to the sheets behind him, or the way he was looking at the camera—or whoever was behind it. 

It had to be staged; it was every inch a model shot, but it didn’t _feel_ staged.  It felt intimate.

To the side, Stiles reread the profile he’d read half a dozen times in the last hour, coming back to it over and over again even though he’d scrolled through the entire ‘over 40’ page. 

**_Christopher_ **

_42/M/Human/Bisexual_

_Christopher has been working with Unnatural Excellence for 11 years now, and though he’s one of the few human escorts we employ he’s remained in high demand from the first time we began taking bookings for him.  He’s charming and an absolute gentleman, but don’t let that fool you—he can pour the same amount of energy into making sure you’re thoroughly satisfied at the end of the night as he does into being a memorable companion.  Christopher has a rare versatility, making him just as popular with our clients who want a tender, steady companion as he is with those looking for an experience to give them a little chill up their spine to make the pleasure even sweeter._

_Specialties: Has considerable experience with werewolves in particular, though he has knowledge of and experience with many forms of non-human partners.  Always willing to discuss your personal species specific needs and preferences.  Possesses training as a hunter, and is willing to put this knowledge to use for those with a hunter kink who may be interested in a roleplay scenario, and/or light BDSM (Dominant only).  Open to most other roleplaying interests as well._

_Hard Limits: No requests for infidelity either real or as a roleplay scenario.  No requests for BDSM scenes in a submissive role.  No electrical stimulation equipment.  No visible marks that are not superficial—though can certainly leave them on clients on request._

_Works part time only, so bookings are limited.  Will on occasion agree to extended multiday bookings, though these are extremely limited, and must be planned in advance._

_Interested to find out of Christopher is the right companion for your night on the town, kink exploration, or public event?_

_Request an Appointment with Christopher, and he’ll be in touch within 48 hours._

Stiles’ mouse hovered over the button.  The rasp of his nail over the crackling finish on the old laptop was loud in the quiet.  He could have replaced the thing a dozen times over by now, but it wasn’t the sort of thing he spent his money on.  There would be a point where just like Roscoe, it would be cheaper to toss the thing and get something new—and just like he had with Roscoe last year he’d probably pay extra, and get it fixed instead. 

He spent his money on this house, on his dad, on Scott, on Lydia, on having the best college experience they could manage.  He spent it on charity, both the kind that led to fancy dinners like this and the kind that involved him quietly paying Melissa’s bills every chance he got. 

He also, apparently, spent it on escorts with tan skin and greying hair and a gaze so piercing Stiles blushed looking at his goddamn screen. 

Before he could think better of it for the hundredth time, Stiles clicked the button. 

======

It wasn’t any easier to look at Chris at person.

Stiles hadn’t thought it would be, exactly, but he still wasn’t prepared for the bizarre, nearly out of body experience of sitting with him on a semi-private patio behind a campus coffee shop in jeans and chucks.  There was a fox playing with a D20 on his shirt—in his defense, he’d thought when he first got dressed they were meeting tomorrow, and he was already dressed for class.  He wanted to make a good impression, yeah, but he hadn’t had the time to change—

Not that it would have mattered; Chris would have outclassed him even if he’d spent an hour destroying his closet and agonizing over what to wear.  If the way he’d looked Stiles over with just the right amount of polite interest when he sat down was any indication, though, Chris wasn’t put off.  Why the hell he wouldn’t be Stiles wasn’t exactly sure, but there was no accounting for taste. 

Chris’ welcome had helped, but Stiles was still even more grateful for his coffee than normal, and that was quite a feat.  He couldn’t remember a day since high school that he hadn’t been grateful for coffee.  It helped his nerves, or felt like it did, but for all the added nerve balance and lack of drag from too little sleep it gave him, it did absolutely nothing to slow his mouth—not that anything ever could. 

“—so it would just be for the one night, just the party and then, um.”  Stiles hands worked their way through a gesture that felt like hieroglyphics, intended to indicate ‘everything else’.  “Afterward.  Until maybe around noon or afternoon the next day?  I’m guessing we’ll probably sleep pretty late—or I mean, I will, and you can if—“

“Afternoon is fine.”  Chris’ voice was smooth; it felt more like being rescued than interrupted.  “I tend to get up pretty early whether I’ve slept or not, but I’m not worried about that.  It’s your time; I want you to be comfortable with every part of it.”  He leaned back in his chair a little, the collar of his shirt gaping. 

Stiles’ eyes strained to go to the scar on his neck, but he didn’t let them.  The triskele on a cord around his neck and the glimpse of greying hair above the button on his shirt were, at least, safer to let his glance drift to.  The blush that heated his skin felt small, but he didn’t have any illusions it wouldn’t show.  He was far too pale to keep a secret like that. 

“Speaking of comfort, I’d like to have a little idea of what you have in mind for that night.  I understand what you’re wanting for the party, but what are you looking to get out of our time afterward?”

It might have sounded sleazier, from someone else.  From Chris, it was matter of fact, easy.  It wasn’t a stretch to think that he’d done this for 11 years, become so comfortable talking about fucking over coffee at an open air patio that it didn’t even raise his heart rate.  Stiles wished, fleetingly, that Scott had been nearby to tell him if it actually had raised his heart rate.  He could feel his own beating heavy, the pulse of it strange, off center. 

“It’s not really anything major—I’m not looking for anything kinky.  I’m not against it; at some point I’m sure I’ll be interested but it’s just that—look I realize this sounds pathetic, but all the sex I’ve had either sucked or was completely painfully boring.  And I’m not talking extensive experience, here, so I guess I’ve probably just had shitty luck, but if I’m bored and I don’t even get laid all that often, I feel like the problem isn’t me, you know?  I’m not hard to please, but wanting someone to touch my dick doesn’t mean I want a hand job under the blanket while they’re still watching March Madness.  Of course it feels nice because it’s a hand on your dick, but it’s not—“  Stiles took a deep breath, and swept his hand across the table.  The paint on the iron flecked off in places against his palm, sticking to his skin.  The patio was nice, but even here in this somewhat secluded corner, this place was showing its age.  He liked that, just like he liked taking classes in buildings with no central AC where students like him had walked since before his grandfather was born. 

He liked the moment noticing had given him to breathe, and liked more that Chris had let him take it. 

“I’m not asking for some grand romantic gesture from anyone, but I don’t think it’s too much to ask for there to be more to it than going through the motions just to get off—is this making any kind of sense as an answer to your question?  I know it’s not a kink list or a typical fantasy or anything.” 

“It’s not a fantasy, per se, but what you’re looking for is more in line with the type of sex you have in a relationship—which isn’t to say it can’t happen in a one-night stand, either, but you’re looking for creativity and interest.  Focus, and build up.  The experience of someone wanting to do all of it with you, not the impression that they’re paying a toll to get to the part they want—is that about right?”

There was nothing overtly sexual in the way he said it, but the way that he looked at Stiles was enough  to send a shiver up his spine.  He felt quietly searched, but not in any way he minded.  Stiles cleared his throat, palm pressing so hard into the table he could feel the pattern of it denting his skin.  “That sounds about right, yeah.”

Chris nodded, unsurprised.  The sip he took from his coffee bared his throat even more, and Stiles couldn’t help but look at the mating bite.  It was big, covering the base of his throat on the left hand side.  It had to have hurt; the scar was thick.  It said more than Stiles was ready to analyze just how much that made his cock throb. 

“I always feel like this shouldn’t have to be said, but I’ve run into what you’re asking for too many times on this job to know better, so for the record—everyone has bad sex sometimes, but basic interest in everyone involved having a good time should be standard.  If you find yourself with someone who doesn’t share that opinion, that’s not a situation you should stay in.”

The advice sounded almost fatherly—at least, it reminded Stiles of his dad, and what he’d said when Stiles broke up with Michael.  That should have probably been more of a turn off than it was, instead of a confused jumble of warmth at the familiarity tempered with how very much his dad could never, ever know the direction he’d gone with _you need to look for someone who’s going to be right for you_. 

That was, really, long term, what trying this was about.  His dad didn’t need to know the steps in between.

“That’s kind of what got me to here—I’m not saying every guy my age is shit a relationships but so many guys my age are shit at relationships and I’m sure I could find some good hookups it just isn’t really my scene so I thought maybe someone with a little more experience would be—“  Stiles stopped for a breath, his mind catching on the inaccuracy.  The gap between their experiences wasn’t small; it was a gulf.  “A lot more experience.  Someone with a lot more experience seemed like a good idea to give me a better baseline of what I’m looking for, and honestly I just...really wanted to have a good time.  I just finished finals; I’m only taking one summer class and I could use a break.” 

“I can make sure you have a good time,” Chris said.  It was confidant and easy; it could have been arrogant so easily.  Stiles could see the smile just barely there in the wrinkles by his eyes, feel the steadiness in his assurance. 

It didn’t feel like arrogance; Stiles believed him.  He nodded, shifting back to rub the paint flecks off on his jeans.  His palms stung; the distraction helped, though his heart rate was already evening out. 

“Okay.  Yeah, I think I’d like that, if you’re...available?”

“I am, and I think this could be a good fit—there’s just a couple more things I want to go over with you.  I don’t take as many clients now as I used to—and I’m not saying that to put you off, just to let you know that I’m only working part time.  If this does work out as well as I think it could and you ever wanted to set up other sessions I’m more than happy to have regular clients but I can’t promise I’ll always be available.  My time off isn’t negotiable, not even for a bonus.  I’m not doing this for the paycheck.  Is that okay?”

“Yeah, absolutely; if we do this again—“  Stiles swallowed, feeling the pull between _I shouldn’t do this more than once_ and _why shouldn’t I?  What’s stopping me?_.  “It’d be when we both have time.  I wouldn’t expect you to show up at the drop of a hat.”

“You’d be surprised what some people expect.”

“I wouldn’t; I’ve worked retail.”  He hadn’t meant to snap out a retort so quick, but Chris’ laugh made him glad he had.  It was rich and deep, authentic.   It felt stupidly nice to have caused it. 

“Alright, so we can both agree sometimes this might take a little scheduling.  The other thing I want all my clients to know upfront is that I’m married—yes, my husband knows what I do, and yes, he’s okay with it, but there are a few...related personal rules.  You’re human, so most of them don’t apply to you.” 

Almost as quickly as he’d felt surprised, Stiles felt a little ashamed of himself for it.  He would’ve assumed a relationship couldn’t be easy to maintain with a job like that—and maybe it wasn’t, but it wasn’t impossible.  Half the difficulty probably came from people like him who wouldn’t have imagined it, assuming that it could never work.  Clearly, this guy’s husband had seen beyond that. 

Now that he knew, Stiles stopped putting in the effort to not to look at the mating bite—he hadn’t imagined it was current, but that explained why Christopher didn’t cover it, why he hadn’t tried to have the scar smoothed out.  It didn’t remotely explain a w _erewolf_ being willing to share their mate, but that felt like far too rude of a question. 

Stiles tongue itched with it; he drank deep from his coffee to try and burn it out, choked a little on swallowing it too quickly when he realized he still hadn’t said anything.

“I am definitely 100% human, and totally okay with respecting your rules; I mean who wouldn’t be?  You’re agreeing to this, and—but he’s a werewolf, right?  With the—“  Stiles gestured toward the bite, relieved when Chris smiled and nodded once rather than looking irritated.  “My best friend’s a werewolf and I live with him—we aren’t together or anything but you know how they are, he’s all over me like an overgrown puppy sometimes so would that be a problem?  Like…secondhand werewolf scent?” 

“No, it doesn’t work quite like that—he’ll notice, but it won’t bother him.  Full on scent marking from another werewolf is deliberate, and that crosses a line, but I have plenty of clients who are wolves.  I get as much of it off as I can before I go home, but as long as it’s not over the top I honestly think part of him likes knowing where I’ve been,”  Chris said.  There was a trace of amusement in his eyes that Stiles could only wonder at—undoubtedly, at some point, Chris’ job had been at the very least a major point of discussion if not contention.  “I appreciate you asking.  Providing a fantasy is part of my job and I enjoy it, but I’m at a point where I want to work with people who understand I have a life outside of all this.  It can get consuming if you let it.” 

“I can imagine.”  With his imagination, after he got back home he’d be imagining quite a bit.  If he didn’t end up on a research spiral about werewolf mates in sex work instead of doing his concealment and detection charms homework, he’d be shocked. 

“I don’t find infidelity attractive so I won’t participate it in, even as a scene—and if there is ever a situation where you’d rather give the illusion we’re married that’s fine but I wear my own ring.”  There was an almost weary finality to it, words he’d repeated often enough that he sometimes had to be prepared for a response he didn’t want. 

Stiles could all too easily imagine the kind of spoiled douchebag who’d pitch a fit about the man they were paying wanting to wear his own husband’s ring.  He’d gone to school with some of those douchebags—Jackson Whittemore came to mind. 

“At my age, pretending we’re married would just draw more attention to me and I feel like that’s the opposite reason most people go for the whole fake married, thing, so I doubt I’ll be asking.”

“Some people like the attention—but I didn’t think this would be one of those times.”  Chris’ eyes trailed over him, searching like they had been when Stiles sat down.  It still didn’t feel predatory, and Stiles still blushed, even so.  “I think I have a good idea of what you want, and how to give it to you.  I can pick you up at 5 on the 24th?”

Stiles nodded, his neck feeling compressed with the sudden weight of unreality.  This didn’t happen to normal people, but it was happening to him.  Either he was actually hiring an escort, or at some point in the next two weeks he was going to wake up. 

He’d been waiting to wake up for the last two years. 

======

The minute he’d opened his browser and actual searched for an escort with the intent of following through, Stiles should have known he was in trouble.  He might have been wrong about the type of trouble, but the awareness of it should have pinged somewhere in his skull—and hell, maybe it had.  Maybe he’d grown too accustomed to setting off his own alarms over the years to realize it, but he didn’t start to hear alarm bells until the party.

It wasn’t just that Chris was an absolute professional—it wasn’t only how gorgeous he’d looked when he came to pick Stiles up, or the way he kept close without it being smothering.  A hand on Stiles back, a kiss to his temple while they waited in line for champagne.  No one watching would have believed they weren’t together; no one watching them dance would have believed they weren’t in love. 

It was the combination, quiet affection and little slips of desire bleeding out through a hand lingering on his wrist, a kiss that went just a little too long to be polite.  It didn’t feel staged; it didn’t look like an act—how could he feel anything but wanted, with Chris crowding him back against the wall for a moment in a quiet corner, his breath warm on Stiles’ ear and still making him shiver? 

“I can’t wait to get you out of here; you’re making me wish I could get away with sucking you off in the hallway.”  His murmur was low and a little rough, his hands at Stiles waist intimate but unhurried, with just his thumb barely slipping to rub under the waistline of his pants. 

It was a fantasy; he’d paid for a fantasy—but he had an excellent imagination, and Chris was an excellent actor.  It was easy, _so_ easy to believe him.  Stiles knew he was in trouble, then, but it was already far too late to want to stop it.  It was much easier to silence it, and revel in the comfort of temporary belief.  He had, after all, wanted himself to have fun—and whatever else it was, dancing with Chris was undoubtedly fun; making out with him in the back of the limo was fun. 

Straddling Chris’ lap with both their shirts untucked and Chris’ hands underneath his on his bare back, Stiles was so hard it was dizzying, and they were both almost entirely clothed.  When he rolled his hips down he could feel the press of Chris’ cock against his, feel the huff of his breath that came with it as they kissed.  He clung to Chris’ shirt, rumpling it in his fingers.  His jacket had been long discarded, and the shirt felt so thin.  He could feel his heat under his palms, the flex in his arms as he tugged Stiles’ hips forward to grind up against him. 

His deliberation was mesmerizing.  The ride back took longer than it felt like it should have, or maybe time just stretched—either way, it seemed ages that they were right there, Stiles nearly bumping his head on the roof of the car now and then, their breath heavy between kisses, Chris’ beard burning his chin. 

It made him bold, his nails digging just a little into Chris’ scalp as he nuzzled against him.  “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“If you like that, wait’ll you feel it on your thighs.” 

The image alone made him moan, and Stiles bit down against Chris’ jaw to muffle it.  Soft, no marks, but the feel of a little give under his teeth grounded him as much as the vibration of Chris’ moan. 

“Yeah, baby; just like that.  You’ll love it; I promise.”  His nails skimmed up Stiles spine, and Stiles could feel himself leaking, pre-come coating his boxers to cling to the head of his cock.  “I’ve been dying to get my mouth on you for hours.” 

There was temptation to give into his nerves, to say it wouldn’t last long—but he could drown those in kissing Chris again, so he did. 

It had taken some consideration to decide whether he wanted to bring Chris back to the house or to a hotel, but in the end the house was where he felt the most comfortable, and he liked the thought of doing this in his own bed, the choice and familiarity of it. 

Chris should have looked out of place in it, but he didn’t—he looked so at ease going to his knees on Stiles’ hardwood floor that it didn’t seem all that strange to have a beautiful man between his thighs, dressed in the remnants of a suit and nuzzling at the bulge in Stiles’ pants like he was hungry. 

He’d watched porn in this room that wasn’t as stunning as the way Chris looked up at him, bright eyed, long fingers rubbing over the line of his cock.  “Right here, or are you gonna make me wait?”

Stiles mouth was so dry; his heart pounded.  “I—“  his fingers twisted into the collar of Chris’ shirt, keeping him close.  “I want you to fuck me; I just don’t know if I can wait—“  it burned his cheeks to admit it, but the flare of shame only lasted until Chris grinned.  With the flash of his teeth and the sparkle of mischief in his eyes, it was almost wicked. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to wait.  You’ll get it up again; trust me.”

His fingers skimmed down Stiles cock, not too firm, not too light, just enough to make his hips buck forward twice before Chris took pity on him, and unzipped his fly.  Looking down, Stiles had never himself so wet; the smell of sex was strong to him already—when Scott got home tomorrow, he’d be scrunching his nose in the foyer, but it didn’t matter.  He didn’t want to think about Scott.

When Chris stopped to take Stiles’ shoes off, then his socks, his heart only beat faster.  He was methodical, gentle, but the burn of deliberation in him was clear.  He touched Stiles like every part of his body was worth getting his hands on, cupping his calves when he pulled Stiles pants clear like the twitch of skinny muscle in them was sexy.  He would’ve felt pandered to, if Chris had been any less focused, if Sties hadn’t been able to see the jut of his cock against his own slacks, still, when he lifted Stiles leg up to kiss the inside of his knee. 

It was too real to doubt; it felt too good.  By the time Chris had lifted him up to rest Stiles thighs on his shoulders, Stiles’ cock was freely dribbling, his balls heavy and tight.  He wasn’t going to last; there was no way he could, but it didn’t matter.  He could lose himself in this, in Chris’ beard scraping at the inside of his thighs, in the way he moaned in the middle of sucking a bruise when Stiles managed a strangled, “Oh, _fuck_ , harder; please, harder.”

He wanted to feel it later, when Chris was fucking him.  He wanted to feel it tomorrow, wanted to see the purple of it when he showered and remember that this was, in fact, a thing that had happened. 

The rasp of his beard over the bruises and the soft insides of his thighs felt exactly as good as Chris had promised; the heat of his mouth felt even better. 

With Chris holding his weight, he had no leverage; it was impossible to thrust more than an inch or two.  He could only cling to the collar of his shirt and twist his fingers in Chris’ hair and take it, and there was something so fucking sexy in that loss of power that he never would have imagined.  He’d never had a blowjob like this; he’d never done _anything_ like this. 

The first time someone had sucked him off he’d been 16.  It lasted about fifteen seconds in the woods outside the lacrosse field, and those fifteen seconds were great, but the whole encounter lasted about five minutes.  It had felt like a punch, like taking a shot. 

His last boyfriend hadn’t liked giving head, but he did it every now and then, when he needed Stiles’ forgiveness.  Michael sucked him like it was a chore, cheeks hollowed and tongue heavy on the underside, head bobbing quick. 

Chris was decadent.  He nuzzled into Stiles balls and licked the groove of his hip; licked a line up his cock like he wanted to taste it.  There was pre-come in his beard; he didn’t care—even when Stiles wiped it away at a moment when he’d pulled back from kissing across Stiles’ stomach, he made it clear he’d been supremely unbothered by catching Stiles wrist in his hand and sucking his thumb down, tongue swirling around it to catch every bit. 

“Jesus fucking—“  In throwing his head back, Stiles clunked his head hard enough against the door that it had to have echoed in the hall.  It didn’t matter; he was already seeing stars, and the ache could barely register. 

Chris nuzzled against the inside of his palm, pressed a kiss there that lingered.  “You’re so responsive; you’re doing so well for me, you know that?  Seeing you like this, how bad you want it—you’re beautiful.  You’re so beautiful, Stiles.”

He wasn’t; he knew he wasn’t.  At least, tomorrow he would know he wasn’t. 

Tonight, with Chris’ breath against his skin, he believed.  There was danger in that, but he didn’t catch it yet.  Not then, not when Chris put his mouth around him and sucked in earnest, taking Stiles deep.  His cock nudged just once at the back of Chris’ throat and the sensation was so startlingly good that he came before he could stop it, the shock of it ramping the burst of pleasure even higher.  Even coming felt different, less like taking a shot and more like a drawn out high.  The buildup had been so good, his body had been humming with the power of how it felt long before he’d gotten off; once he had, he felt riddled with aftershocks.   

His thighs trembled on Chris’ shoulders.  Rather than ease him down, Chris rubbed them with his strong hands.  His kisses along the bruises he’d left were soft, the dart of his tongue to taste Stiles’ skin so quick it almost felt chaste.  It was unnecessary, wholly; it made Stiles want to kiss him. 

There was no missing the danger in that, really, but it was far, far too late.  If this had been a bad decision, he’d already made it.  The damage was done.  The night wasn’t even over, and Chris had already done what he’d promised; he’d showed Stiles a better time than anyone had.  He’d validated the research and exceeded it, and if Stiles liked him far, far too much, that wasn’t Chris’ fault.  It probably happened all the time.  How could it not?  How could anyone not fall for a fantasy, when the one providing it put so much into the details?

Stiles hadn’t prepared for this specific danger, but it didn’t matter.  He was no stranger to getting himself in trouble. 

Rather than think about it, he slipped his thighs one at a time from Chris’ shoulders and laughed when they didn’t hold him as well as he’d thought.  He gave in and went down, kissed Chris with both of them on their knees, Chris smiling against his mouth. 

It wasn’t real, but it was a hell of a dream.  No one could blame him for riding it until he had to wake up. 

**Author's Note:**

> So...I definitely have a lot more in my head for this verse than would fit in this short little oneshot that I actually expected to both include more sex and be shorter than this, but this is what happened once I got started, and I liked it like it is, lol 
> 
> Point being, if you are interested in this verse, let me know, because I think it could be really fun to both show this turning into stetopher (because of course it will lmao), and to go back and show how Chris and Peter got together...among other things like Peter's evolving feelings on Chris' job, Peter's OpinionsTM about some of his clients...XD Just let me know if any of that sounds interesting ^^ I hope you guys enjoyed this!


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